


Fire. Arm.

by Waldo



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Community: ncisdaily, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-10
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/pseuds/Waldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The problem with chasing down idiot meth makers</i>, G thought as he picked his head up off the arm he'd managed to get between his face and the concrete,<i> is that they're <b>idiots</b></i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire. Arm.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NCISDaily's March 10th prompt - firearm.
> 
> My profuse apologies for my bizarre take on this.

_The problem with chasing down idiot meth makers_, G thought as he picked his head up off the arm he'd managed to get between his face and the concrete,_ is that they're **idiots**_. He stood up and dusted the glass shards and brick dust out of his hair. "Two minutes earlier and we'd have been in that damn house," he griped to his partner. "Sam?" he asked, looking around, when his partner didn't answer.

Sam had been about six steps ahead of him as they'd approached the building's front door. Now he was lying at the foot of the stairs, a fair number of burning bits of debris around him.

"Fuck!" G yelled as he realized a large piece of what he guessed was a wooden window frame was very much on fire and was lying across Sam's left arm. He kicked it off Sam's arm and then used his leather jacket to suffocate the burning embers that were all that was left of Sam's sleeve. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mumbled as he retrieved his cell phone and stabbed the line for Eric. "We need an ambulance. Damn meth lab exploded – Sam's unconscious and he's been burned."

The line stayed open, but Eric didn't even acknowledge him before G could hear him contacting fire and rescue. "They've had a bunch of calls on the explosion. They rolled an ambulance on principle. They should be there in just a minute." G turned the phone off and dropped it in his pocket.

He knelt down and checked Sam's pulse, grateful to find it strong and steady. He carefully pulled back his jacket and peered underneath. "That's gonna smart for a few days," he mumbled. He guessed that those were second degree and third degree burns covering about ten square inches of Sam's left forearm.

Police, fire and ambulance showed up and the additional noise and commotion seemed to register for Sam and he started groan. When he started to push himself up on both arms, G carefully shoved him back down. "Don't move, Big Guy."

Sam rolled his head to the side, blinking slowly. "What the hell happened?"

G pointed the still burning house, then to Sam's injury. "Fire. Arm."

Sam slumped back down. "Those idiots blew up their lab?" he asked, his speech a little slurred from his head injury.

"Yep. And if we'd been two minutes earlier, we would have been inside with them."

"That woulda sucked," Sam said, his eyes closing, but his body shifting in a way that told G he wasn't out again.

G stepped back as the paramedics rushed up and assessed Sam before loading him up on the stretcher. G walked with him as they brought him over to the ambulance. "You know, I know you were thinking of getting that tattoo removed, but really, I'm not sure this was the best way to go about it."

When the paramedics stepped away to take care of the well-done meth-making gunny that the firefighters were dragging out, G stepped up and put his hand on Sam's good arm. "How are you feeling?" he asked seriously.

"My ears are ringing, my vision's doubled and my arm hurts like a bitch. Over all? I'm still about twelve times better than you were the last time I watched them load _you_ into one of these things." Sam gave his partner a little smile.

G smiled, looking relieved. "I'll follow you to the hospital. Any idea which zip code your car keys ended up in?"

Sam pushed his good hand into his jeans pocket. "Be nice to my car."

G laughed, trying to keep Sam's spirits up even as he could see the concussion wanting to knock him out again. "I'm not the one slamming through chain-gates and illegal street racing in the thing."

"That's because short of getting blown up, I don't let you behind the wheel –"

Sam was cut off by the return of the paramedics. G glanced over his shoulder and saw the tarp thrown over their other patient. G wondered if this made their paperwork load lighter or heavier. "Well, I guess this case is closed," he told Sam, pointing.

"And for once, I'm not going to be the one left with all our paperwork. Hard to do paperwork while they pull bits of barbequed house out of your arm." Sam smiled at G as they loaded up.

"Uh-huh," G said noncommittally. It wasn't like he was going back to the office to worry about paperwork until someone with a lot of letters after their name promised him Sam would be okay. Several times.


End file.
